


Archived Protocols

by Jetainia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, M/M, Magic, Rock Star AU, Time Loop, Werewolf Phil Coulson, magic shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: When something unusual happens in SHIELD, there are protocols to help the agent that had been affected.





	1. Access

Just as Barton landed in Lola—after jumping off a building and causing Phil a heart attack followed by a desperate scramble for Lola’s flight controls—a beam of green light hit the cherry red car and enveloped it completely. Without a sound, the car and her occupants vanished from the battlefield.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Phil blinked to clear his vision as he found himself sitting in front of his computer, the cursor blinking at him from where it rested at the start of a new sentence. It was one of the ridiculous reports he had to write up for missions relating to Barton. Too many times of writing _Barton then decided to fall off a building to get the shot_ had made him try and be more creative with how he worded it.

With a sigh, he typed out the phrase he had decided on in the back of his mind—apparently he had grown so used to mixing the sentence up that his subconscious was working on it in the background. _Barton employed a strategy that meant he was able to take the shot and quickly escape from the surrounding area_. He then saved the document, grabbed his empty coffee mug, and went in search of more coffee.

As he passed by Sitwell reprimanding two junior agents for almost getting themselves killed, he frowned. That seemed all too familiar. It was almost a daily occurrence that someone nearly died at SHIELD, but not Sitwell reprimanding them, and not the same agents. Phil was sure he remembered Reams and Jester being scolded by Jasper recently.

It was only when he arrived at the breakroom and saw Barton’s left foot vanishing into the ceiling vents and the abundance of flora now inhabiting the room that it clicked. Sighing, he looked mournfully at the water boiler; he already knew it was out of order and would only give him cold water. He wouldn’t be getting any coffee from here. With a sharp turn, Phil headed back to his office to deposit his empty mug before going down to the archives.

He nodded to Hannah as he passed her and she smiled back at him, not asking why he was at the archives in case it was above her clearance level. It wasn’t. All SHIELD agents had access to the protocol booklets and the lesser-used ones were stored in the archives so that they didn’t get lost. The last time the booklet Phil was after had been used was in 1980 when Agent Hammond had encountered four people claiming to know him from the future.

Once among the stacks, Phil made a beeline for the protocol booklets and fished out the one marked _Time_. Not seeing the point of going back up to his office, he settled down on the floor where he stood and started flicking through the pages.

_Step 1. Learn what time trouble you are having._

Phil hummed to himself in thought. He had been sent back in time approximately nine hours so it was likely either a loop or a single throw. Given that he couldn’t confirm yet if he was in a loop, he decided to act on the assumption that it was a single occurrence.

_Step 2. Discover why you have moved through time._

The only thing out of the ordinary (by SHIELD’s standards at least) had been the beam of green light that had hit Lola just after he had caught Barton and stopped the fool from falling to his death. The thought of Barton made him wonder if the other had also been thrown back in time and as he glanced back at the list, he saw that that was the next step.

_Step 3. Determine if anyone else has been moved through time with you._

Almost as soon as he finished reading the sentence, a vent a few feet away opened and Barton dropped down into the archives. That answered that question then; Barton wouldn’t willingly set foot in such a boring place as the archives without a compelling reason.

“What made you realise?” he asked and Barton jumped, clearly not having expected anyone to be there.

He grinned when he saw Phil. “I’m pretty good at predicting what Hill’s going to say when she catches up to me but I’m not good enough that I know exactly what she’s going to say along with intonations and pauses.”

“The flowers?” Phil enquired drily.

“It was a very dead space, it needed some life in it,” Barton defended as he dropped down next to Phil. “Spill.”

“I don’t know much yet but I think we’ve either been thrown back in time and it will proceed as normal from here, or we’re in a time loop and we’ll keep going around until we break out.”

“So we wait and see?”

“Pretty much.”

Barton hopped to his feet and returned to the vent he had come out of. Before climbing up into it, he said, “I’m off grab some cheesecake before it’s all gone seeing as I missed out last time. You want any?”

Phil almost said no. Then he remembered that Macy was in charge of the kitchen that day and that Macy made the best cheesecake. “Definitely,” he said instead.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

When the call went out a few hours later, Phil and Barton shared a look. This was when they would discover if time would continue progressing for them or if it would loop back around. Acting on the assumption that it would continue, they used their knowledge of future movements to aid SHIELD defend against the threat. This time there was no frantic driving of Lola to catch Barton as he fell.

There was, however, still a flash of green light.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Phil stared at the computer screen with its blinking cursor for a moment before groaning and letting his head fall onto the keyboard—uncaring of the stream of letters that was now speeding along the screen. A few moments he heard the grating above him move and the soft thump that was Barton dropping down from the vent.

“We’re looping then,” he stated.

Phil didn’t bother moving his head to answer, resulting in a slightly muffled, “Yes.”

“Huh.” Phil thought that was it until Barton spoke up again a few seconds later with a completely unprompted set of words that made him wonder where Barton’s brain had taken him in the momentary silence. “You what’s great about living the same day over and over and being the only ones to remember it? It’s a beautiful day to commit murder.”

“Please tell me you don’t actually plan on murdering someone SHIELD doesn’t order you to.”

Barton shrugged, unconcerned. “I probably won’t. Still, could be fun.”

“And what if we exit the loop without knowing and you’ve killed someone you shouldn’t have.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Barton grinned at Phil. “That must be why you’re here to, to keep me from doing stupid things.”

“I do that enough when we’re not in a time loop.”


	2. Erase

_Step 4. Find a way out._

Being stuck in a time loop with a booklet that was supposed to help and actually knew nothing was not Phil’s idea of fun. Add to the mix a cocky archer who was having far too much fun contemplating getting away with murder due to time constantly being rewritten, and Phil’s stress levels ended up quite high. It would help tremendously if they knew _how_ they ended up in a time loop. What would be even better was how to _get out_ of the time loop.

The protocol booklet for time was no help in figuring out _how_ exactly they were supposed to break the time loop and they had been through the same day approximately sixty times by now. Around Day 10, they had stopped bothering with the call out to protect the city from being destroyed. That had been how they were trapped in the first place and having to fight the same battle quickly got tiresome. Besides, they needed to find a way out of the loop.

Not that there had been any success on that front. Both Phil and Clint had read through the _Time_ booklet and determined that it would be no further help to them. No previous SHIELD agent had been stuck in a time loop according to the records and as such, SHIELD didn’t have much information on them except that they were possible.

After Day 13, Phil had decided to use the opportunity to catch up on lost sleep from both constant looping and the week of late nights before he and Clint had been thrown back. He had been directed to a nest of pillows and blankets by Clint when the other man had discovered him curled up on a couch in a rarely-used breakroom.

Without even questioning the fact that Clint had a nest in SHIELD, Phil had collapsed down and fallen asleep within moments. He had woken up several hours later to find Clint nestled in a separate pile and a plate of Macy’s cheesecake near his head. Macy made the best cheesecake, Phil reflected as he ate the treat. It was sheer luck that they were repeating a day where Macy was in charge of the kitchen and it was something they were both grateful for.

Day 15 had them realising that there was nothing was saying they had to stay in the SHIELD building, or even within close vicinity of it. That was when the road trips had started. Even though they lived in New York, they had never had the time to see it as civilians. There had never been a moment they could take and just go and see the Statue of Liberty or the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.

Now they had as much time as they wanted—or until they figured out how to break the loop or it broke on its own. Of course, they could only go so far before the loop reset but they managed to see many of the things that they always meant to but never got around to doing so. It was rather nice not having to run off and save the world every other day—even if the reason they weren’t running off was because the day would just reset even if they lost the battel to save it.

Eventually though, the repetition grew tiresome and they found themselves back in the SHIELD archives. Day 60 was when Clint stumbled on a report about an 0-8-4 that emitted a green light and those affected by it claimed to have been caught it in a time loop. It was the breakthrough they needed.

“Are you ready?” Clint asked Phil as they stood ready to end the loop.

Phil thought about the days he had spent in the loop with Clint. How he had been well rested for what seemed to be the first time in a century; how he and Clint had discovered that without the strain of SHIELD missions, they actually clicked quite well together. He would miss the ease of not having to worry if the world was going to end. He would miss being able to ignore SHIELD alerts and instead stay curled up around Clint.

Instead of saying all of that, he said, “No.”

Clint grinned at him. “Me neither.”

“You know, when you suggested we commit murder during the time loop,” Phil commented, “I didn’t think you were suggesting our own murder.”

“This is nothing, Phil. I jump off buildings all the time.”

“Yes, and I catch you.”

Clint held out his hand and wiggled his fingers, inviting Phil to grasp it. After he had done so, Clint said, “This time we’re catching each other.”

“That was incredibly cheesy.”

“Worked though.”

Phil had to admit that it had. With one last glance at the New York skyline, both he and Clint jumped. There was a moment of sheer terror as they fell through the air. Frantic thoughts of whether the report was right or if they had got it wrong. Then they landed.

Phil found his hands wrapped around Lola’s steering wheel with Clint sitting next to him grasping his bow. Both of them were out of breath and the sound of battle was all around them. They had done it, they had returned to the moment they had left. An explosion rocked the floating car and Phil’s mind instantly clicked over to battle mode. He’d deal with returning to a proper flow of time later. For now, he had to stop a battle.

Luckily, he knew precisely how to do that with maximum efficiency and minimum casualties.

_Step 4. Find a way out._

_Note: If loop is caused by a green light, refer to report A187-H._


	3. Transition

“Seriously?” Clint asked, his voice slightly higher in pitch than it normally was as he stared at the contorting man in front of him.

Phil couldn’t speak and instead let out a groan of pain that trailed off into a short howl. His bones were cracking, lengthening, and rearranging themselves as his skin shifted and stretched over the top. He could feel it as his face elongated and became more canine with long teeth trying to jut out from his lips.

He hadn’t really given much thought to the pain that the werewolves in popular fiction would go through when they changed. He thought it was something more people should mention; it might help keep some fans of werewolves from wanting to be turned into one. Phil had never been a fan of werewolves and had certainly never thought them real.

Yet here he was, turning into a wolf on the night of the full moon and in agonising pain because of it. Clint was now backed up in one of the corners as he stared at Phil; he was clearly battling the urge to leave and the desire to stay in case Phil needed him. Phil snorted at him and jerked his head as much as could in the direction of the door.

The legends and fiction said that werewolves had trouble controlling themselves while in wolf form and he had no desire to harm Clint. Clint shook his head and Phil had to hold in another howl as he wanted to berate the other man for his stupidity. His hands and feet were paws now, his clothes torn apart and strewn across the floor with wiry hair replacing them as a covering.

Eventually, the pain stopped, and Phil stood in the centre of the room panting heavily. It was a very strange sensation standing on all fours without having his legs bent and extending away or his back thrust high in the air to compensate for legs that were longer than arms. Curiously, Phil lifted his right foreleg and examined it.

It looked just like any other wolf paw and was covered in a brown hair with silver strands running through it. As he flexed what had once been fingers, he saw the toes on the paw move. Placing the leg back down on the ground, Phil shifted how he was standing in a semblance of bouncing up and down—shifting from flat footed to having his weight mostly on his toes.

A sound from across the room caught his attention and he snapped his head up to see Clint still standing in the corner. He whined lowly, sliding back to the other side of the room to put distance between him and the archer. While at the moment he held no malice towards the man, he didn’t want to be close to him and suddenly feel the urge to tear into him with teeth instead of words as he usually did.

Clint took a step forward and Phil growled in warning. “Phil?” he asked.

Phil nodded his head and growled even louder when Clint continued moving towards him. With each step Clint took, Phil tried to cram himself further into the corner he had ended up in. The wall behind him was not helping his retreat and Clint was soon crouched down right in front of him. The archer’s hand came up and slowly moved towards Phil, allowing time for him to snatch it back if Phil decided to snap at it.

Phil did no such thing. He might have been silently cursing the archer with every foul word he knew but he didn’t want to hurt him. Snapping would be the opposite of what he was trying to achieve by not attacking Clint. When Clint’s hand made contact, Phil stiffened in preparation of having to control himself long enough for Clint to escape.

But there was nothing. No wolf instinct demanding he attack the human that touched him, no instant surge of anger, fear, or even malice that would cause him to turn feral. Instead, his eyes closed in pleasure as Clint started up a stroking motion.

Clint’s hand retreated. “Sorry,” the archer said. “I didn’t mean to start petting you.”

Phil opened one eye and then flopped down on the ground, pushing his head into Clint’s hand after he had done so—letting the other man know that Phil didn’t mind being petted and in fact quite enjoyed it. Clint laughed and started stroking his hand over Phil’s body again.

“I wonder if there’s a protocol booklet for this,” he commented after a few moments of peaceful bliss.

Phil huffed and shifted so that Clint’s hand stroked over a better spot. He didn’t really care if SHIELD had a protocol for suddenly finding yourself a being of myth—though he knew they did—he just wanted Clint to keep patting him. Protocols could wait until he was human again, he thought. Clint seemed to understand his opinion of the matter and settled down next to Phil for a lengthy period of pats.


	4. Testing

_Step 1. Confirm what creature you have been turned into._

Phi had to snort as he read that. SHIELD was great at creating protocol booklets for every possible situation—even the _impossible_ ones—but they were terrible at creating useful steps to follow. He knew already that he was a werewolf, confirmed by the transformation that had happened two nights ago.

_Step 2. Determine the means by which you were turned._

A flash of orange light from an 0-8-4 that had proceeded to disintegrate was the only thing out of the ordinary that had happened to him. Yet another strange event caused by an 0-8-4 that he had to deal with. At least this time, he wasn’t trapped in a time loop with Clint contemplating murder without consequences.

_Step 3. Gain control of the creature that now lives inside of you._

As he thought back to the night of the full moon, Phil realised that he seemed to already have control. Or that there was no control to be had over the ‘creature that now lived inside of him’ because there _was_ no creature living inside of him. It was just him. He merely happened to turn into a wolf every month now. He hadn’t felt the need to attack Clint at any point of the night and had never lost clarity of his mind.

_Step 4. Make arrangements that suit your new life style and your work at SHIELD._

Phil had already done that. He had dropped off his request forms for the three days surrounding the full moon off unless extenuating circumstances demanded his presence. He would prefer to not have to work while he was a wolf but given the fact only his body changed, it was a possibility and he wasn’t about to let agents die because he was a bit hairier than usual.

The booklet said no more. It only contained four steps for what to do when you had spontaneously become a creature of mythology. Sighing, he flipped it closed and placed it back in the box with the other rarely-used protocols. He really needed to talk with whoever had written the booklets. They were no help when actually facing the situation they were supposed to guide one through.

Clint dropped down from the ceiling with a piece of chocolate cake secured in a Tupperware container. He grinned mischievously at Phil as he held out the container.

“Wanna see if you can still eat chocolate?” he asked, wiggling the container.

Phil rose an eyebrow. “Do you really think that’s such a great idea?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try and if you don’t try you might miss out on some awesome desserts you could have eaten just fine and didn’t know.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic and grabbed the container from Clint’s outstretched hands. Refusing to eat cake in the archives, he stalked off in the direction of his office with Clint trailing behind him quite happily.

_Note. If you’re a werewolf, don’t eat chocolate. Just don’t._


	5. Rocking

The quiet hum from the agents populating the scene faded into the background as a red light started shining from the 0-8-4. Phil's first reaction was to sigh. Twice before he had encountered glowing 0-8-4s and every time something strange had happened. The first time, he had been thrown into a time loop with Barton, and the second he had become a werewolf.

"Phil!" Clint called out, hurrying to pull Phil away.

Phil backed up and turned to get out of the 0-8-4s range but was too late. Just as Clint reached him—fingers clasping at Phil's suit jacket—the light surged forward and closed around the both of them. Phil's world was entirely red. He could still feel Clint's hand clutching his clothes but couldn't see him. There was only red and he closed his eyes—letting out another sigh as he waited for whatever strangeness the 0-8-4 would bring upon him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

There was a dull roaring burrowing into Phil's head as the crimson red behind his lids faded. He felt shifting against his skin and as he opened his eyes he saw that his SHIELD issued suit had changed. His pressed slacks had become leather trousers, the white button up a black vest and his jacket was now red and also made of leather. His tie was still black but was now covered in purple motifs of music notes and pulled out so the knot rested loosely on his chest as opposed to his neck.

Clint's fingers rubbed against the part of Phil's jacket he was still holding, testing the change of fabric. Phil looked over at him, ready to make a wry comment before he saw the other man and felt his mouth go dry. Clint normally wore close-fitting casual clothes with the occasional SHIELD issued uniform.

Now, the archer was wearing ripped skinny jeans that were a dark purple with a white t-shirt covered by a denim jacket and accompanying fleece collar over the top. His hair was still spiked as it normally was but had purple tips and his eyes were outlined with purple eyeliner. A distant thought identified the fact that the 0-8-4 had clearly taken into account Clint's favourite colour while it performed its magic.

Clint grinned at him and waggled his eyebrows. "Ready for our next adventure, Phil?"

Phil smacked him. "Let's just get this over with."

The door opened and a woman stuck her head in. She was wearing a headset over her ears and was carrying a clipboard. "Five minutes, guys. Get side stage."

Phil stared at the closed door as the lady walked off and then back to Clint and down at himself. As he heard and processed the dull roaring, a horrifying realisation dawned on him. "Clint," he started, wetting his lips as he tried to come to terms with his epiphany. "I think we're performers. In a band. There's a high chance that we are expected to sing on a stage in front of thousands of people in five minutes."

"Hell, yeah!" Clint apparently did not share his apprehension. "This is awesome, Phil! I thought a time loop was pretty cool, but being on a stage? It's been ages since I've performed for a crowd."

Right, Phil reminded himself. Clint had been in the circus; he was used to performing and comfortable in front of large crowds. Still, there was a slight problem.

"Clint, I don't sing. Or perform or do anything in that general vicinity. We don't even know what we're supposed to be doing out there!"

Clint's hands came up to cup Phil's face and he smiled at the agent. "Hey, we'll be okay, Phil," he assured. "We've managed to live through a time loop without going crazy. You're a werewolf somehow via an 0-8-4 that we  _still_  haven't identified but now you turn furry on the full moon."

He seemed to realise he'd gone off track and corrected himself. "The point is, we're still here, we're still sane, and we've been in these types of situations before and managed to get out of them."

"We have never been five minutes from going on a stage and being expected to perform to a live audience," Phil rebutted, panic still clawing at his insides even with Clint trying to calm him down.

"More like three minutes by now," Clint observed and then hurriedly continued speaking once he saw that that announcement did not help Phil's panicking at all. "Hey, hey, hey, we're good. We're Hawkeye and Super Badass Agent Coulson. If we can take down international crime syndicates, we can totally be rock stars for a night."

There was a knock at the door and a voice called out, "One minute till opening, get out there, boys!"

"You good?" Clint asked, staring right into Phil's eyes and making sure that he was okay.

Phil nodded shakily. "I'm good."

"Good." Clint kissed him and then pulled him out of the door and along a narrow corridor to where the sound was loudest.

The roaring grew more distinct until Phil could make out voices and understand a few words in the jumble. After a few repetitions, he discovered they were saying the same two words over and over again.  _Purple Tie, Purple Tie, Purple Tie_. Glancing over at Clint with his purple clothes and his own tie with its purple motifs, he gathered that was the name of whatever they were involved in now.

The same woman who had given them the five-minute call nodded at them and gestured for them to move over to the round platforms surrounded by scaffolding. They did so. Looking up, Phil could see lights moving above and the bars that ran across the top of the stage. The woman began counting down.

Phil looked over at Clint who grinned at him and gave him a thumbs up. Phil nodded back. He could do this. He could definitely do this. It didn't matter that he had zero experience in the performance industry or that he had trained as a soldier and then an agent of SHIELD and that neither of those held any connection to the situation he now found himself in. If he ever got back to SHIELD, he was instituting a new rule that said all agents had to have some training in performing.

The lights above went out and the platforms started rising. As they rose, Phil felt like his mind was melting into something else. It no longer felt like he was in control—or at least, not a him he knew. It was certainly  _Phil Coulson_  in control, but it wasn't SHIELD Agent Phil Coulson. It was Phil Coulson the rock star, one half of the duo known as  _Purple Tie_.


	6. Rolling

Phil shifted uncomfortably in bed, feeling as though his head was going to explode and skin shift into something else. Clint cracked one eye open to glare at him.

"You going to keep moving about all night?" he asked.

"Something's not right," Phil said in explanation. He felt like something was supposed to happen and it wasn't.

Clint groaned and rolled himself off Phil to look at the clock on the bedside table. The glowing numbers said that it was one o'clock in the morning and he pointedly told Phil this. Phil threw off the blankets and wandered out into the living room. The moon shone through the large windows and lit up the space. It was full tonight.

A shuffling sound and arms wrapped in blankets draping over his shoulders told him that Clint had followed him. "Going to start howling at it?" the man asked groggily.

Phil realised he had been staring at the moon and snorted. "I'm not a werewolf."

Except— There was a nagging sensation in the back of his head like maybe he was. He  _knew_  that the night of the full moon was special to him in some way, he just couldn't remember how. The word werewolf resonated in him and he seriously considered if it was at all possible he was one. But he couldn't be.

He was Phil Coulson, one of the two members of  _Purple Tie_. He was a rock star that performed with his partner on stage to thousands of people. He had sold millions of albums and had never known anything but the music industry. He had followed his mother's footsteps and become a name known worldwide for the music he created.

Clint huffed and kissed the side of his neck. "You coming back to bed or are you going to keep staring at the big ball of light in the sky?"

"I think I'll keep looking at the big ball of light. You go sleep, there's no reason for you to stay up."

"Don't stay up all night, Phil," Clint said as he shuffled away. "Love you."

"I love you too."

Clint retreated into the bedroom and hopefully back to sleep. Phil remained where he was; staring up at the full moon and trying to remember why it was so important. After about half an hour of this, his vision turned blurry and red and he had to shake himself to get rid of it.

Glancing at the moon as he went, Phil wandered back into the bedroom and climbed into bed. Clint curled around him and Phil closed his eyes, drifting off to a calm sleep.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"No howling?" Clint asked as Phil stumbled into the kitchen the next morning.

"Huh?" Phil asked eloquently.

Clint smiled fondly as he slid across a mug of hot coffee and returned to the frying pan where he had eggs and bacon cooking. "The moon. No howling at it?"

"No. Sorry about keeping you up." He didn't even know why he had now. There was nothing special about a full moon, not in reality anyway.

Clint shrugged before he said, "Shame, I think you'd make a great werewolf. And I bet you'd be great for snuggling as well."

"You want to snuggle a werewolf?" Phil asked, still not fully awake yet.

"Yep," Clint agreed, popping the p. "I already know it would be awesome."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Gut feeling, I guess." Clint slid the food off the frying pan and onto the two plates he had sitting ready. "Breakfast is served."

"Thank you."

Clint smiled and pressed a kiss to Phil's lips. "Any time, my darling wolf."

Phil wanted to protest the name but didn't. Sure, he wasn't actually a werewolf, but the name felt so right. It was as though the endearment belonged to him, even though Clint or anyone else had ever before used it. Instead, he returned the kiss and then dug into breakfast with gusto.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Phil was looking for inspiration for their next stage design when he happened across a picture of a man in profile holding a bow with the string drawn back and an arrow notched. For a split-second, he thought the man was Clint. Then he remembered that Clint didn't have a bow and—as far as Phil was aware—had never even held one in his lifetime.

He was about to ask Clint what he thought about using bows and arrows on their set when a wave of red flooded his vision and the thought fled from his mind. On his computer screen there was a picture of the  _Lord of the Rings_  characters standing in a line and looking seriously into the camera. He snorted softly to himself and scrolled further down the page; he was not having a  _Lord of the Rings_  themed stage.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Chest heaving from exertion, Phil stared in shock at the downed men sprawled on the pavement. The van they had jumped out from was long gone after the driver realised that their friends weren't going to win the fight and drove away. He had just been a victim of attempted kidnapping and somehow managed to fend off the three men who had tried to grab him.

He looked down at his hands as though they didn't belong to him. They were steady. The fight had been brief and he had moved with a grace and fluidity he had only seen in movies. He had known what to do. How had he known what to do?

Red started to creep into his vision and he squeezed his eyes closed as he clasped his hands over his head. There was a banging somewhere and he could feel memories trying to resurface. The red was still present but it was lingering on the edges of his vision, tendrils seeming to test whether they were welcome by moving in and then retreating. Stumbling slightly, Phil started walking away from the three men still lying on the ground and towards his apartment.

It was only a few doors away and he fell onto the floor once he had the front door open. His head felt like it was splitting apart. He heard rushing footsteps and then Clint was there. Cool hands pulled him inside, he heard the door snick as it was kicked closed. Fingers ran through Phil's receding hair and a kiss was placed on his forehead.

"Phil?" Clint asked softly. "You okay?"

Phil shook his head, unable to talk but knowing there was no way in hell that he was okay when his head was threatening to implode. Clint bundled him into his lap and starting rocking back and forth, his fingers still brushing through Phil's hair and his lips pressing light kisses on Phil's temple.

Flashes of a different life started appearing in Phil's mind and he watched them in pained confusion. There was himself in a desert with a gun held tightly in his grip. He was in a black suit and listening intently as a man wearing an eyepatch pointed to things on a holographic projection. An alleyway with rain falling down and Clint staring up at him incredulously where he lay sprawled with a bullet wound in his leg.

A target range with Clint shooting arrow after arrow from a purple bow and each arrow hitting the bullseye. A purple couch replacing the beige one that had previously lived in his office. Clint saying that it was a beautiful day to commit murder. He and Clint strolling through the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Clint staying with him as he transformed into a wolf and spending the night happily curled up around the wolf he had become.

Clint saying that they were Hawkeye and the Super Badass Agent Coulson who could totally handle being rock stars. The red vanished from his vision and he gasped as Phil Coulson from  _Purple Tie_  faded away to be replaced with Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD. The room around him wavered as though he was seeing through a heat haze.

He looked up at Clint and could see the small specks of red in his eyes that he had never taken notice of before. He sat up quickly and grasped Clint's face in his own. Clint was staring at him in confusion; clearly worried and wondering what was going on with Phil that he would collapse into their home and curl up in pain.

He gripped Clint's face in his hands and said desperately, "Hawkeye, you have to come back to me."

Clint made a move to pull out of Phil's grip but he held on tighter. "What are you talking about, Phil?"

And Phil almost sobbed as he saw the red flecks grow brighter. "Remember the time loop?" he asked. "Where you kept getting Macy's cheesecake and we stopped being idiots? Or the night you stayed in a room with a werewolf that could have killed you?"

"Phil, you're not making any sense."

"You are Hawkeye, the world's greatest marksman and you never miss," Phil rattled off. "You were in the circus after you ran away from home with your brother Barney and stayed there until you saw something you shouldn't have and Trickshot would have killed you if you stayed. You were a mercenary until SHIELD tracked you down and I brought you in.

"You're an agent of SHIELD now, have been for years. Seven months ago, we entered a time loop and were the only ones aware of it. Five months ago, I became a werewolf.  _That's_ why I stare at the moon when it's full. Please, Clint, remember who you really are."

Phil rubbed his thumb over Clint's cheek as he saw the red flecks fading. The room around them grew hazier as Clint's eyes widened. He stared around at the room with new eyes—the eyes of an ex-mercenary sniper and the world's greatest marksman. Hawkeye was back and Clint Barton of  _Purple Tie_  was gone. He clutched at Phil, still processing the memories that were surely flooding his mind.

The room was almost indistinct now and Phil held Clint even tighter as the once-sharp lines of walls and furniture became blurs of colour. Red bled over everything, the same red that had been flecks in Clint's eyes and had always washed over his vision when he had questioned something about the reality he lived in.

When the red faded they were standing at the site where the 0-8-4 that had shifted their reality had been discovered. An agent was walking over with a containment case for the object and other SHIELD agents were dotted around the site. Phil and Clint both smiled in relief; they were back where they belonged.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A pen hovered above an empty page. The situation Phil was trying to describe wasn't one where whoever found themselves in it could go to the archives and find the protocols. As far as he was aware, SHIELD hadn't even  _existed_  in the alternate reality. Still, he had to make a note of it just in case the 0-8-4 activated again.

_Alternate Realities_

_Notice everything. Question everything. Red is a prevalent colour when this occurs, and it could be a sign that you are living in an alternate reality. Get out by remembering the original reality and reminding any companions about it as well._


	7. Bending

Phil grabbed his gear as he was alerted to the presence of a glowing 0-8-4 being discovered in a nearby town. As he strode down one of the many corridors in SHIELD HQ, Clint fell into step beside him. The archer handed over a cup of coffee and Phil had to resist the urge to kiss the living daylights out of him. Instead, he settled for walking a bit closer to Clint and brushing shoulders while he guzzled down the divine drink.

"You feeling lucky?" Clint asked as they boarded the quinjet.

Phil chucked the now-empty coffee cup in the nearby bin and replied with a dry tone. "After last time, not particularly."

Last time they had encountered a glowing 0-8-4, the two of them had been sent into an alternate dimension where there were not SHIELD agents, but rock stars. The time before that, Phil had become a werewolf, and before that there had been a time loop. Their luck with 0-8-4s was rubbish; the device always managed to drag both Phil and Clint into some sort of adventure.

"At least this one doesn't seem to be causing any problems so far," Clint said as they sat down and buckled in.

Phil grunted. "Neither did any of the other ones. It would be nice if this one was simple, but we shouldn't expect anything to be easy."

"Never do, Phil. I'm part of SHIELD, after all, and there's this guy who likes poking me about paperwork that needs to be filled out in triplicate—"

Clint cut off when Phil sagged into him, the coffee barely keeping his spirits up as he prepared to face yet another 0-8-4. How many more of these strange glowing objects could he handle? This would be the fourth one in a relatively short amount of time. 0-8-4s were not common and now this? He had to wonder if someone had it out for him.

"Hey, you okay?" Clint asked.

Phil hummed in agreement. He was okay. He wasn't  _great_ , but he was okay. "Just tired."

"Grab some sleep while we're flying, I'll wake you when we're about to land."

Phil was already feeling the pull of sleep and spent the rest of the trip in the space that lay between sleep and wakefulness. He wasn't really sleepy; he was just exhausted and the thought of dealing with another ridiculous situation drained his energy.

He woke up fully when Clint patted his shoulder and sat up. They had arrived at the town. It was time to deal with whatever the 0-8-4 would throw at them.

"Any better?" Clint asked, peering at Phil in concern.

Phil smiled at him. "I'll be fine, Clint."

"You better be."

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

A blast of yellow light burst out of the small rotund object and enveloped Phil and Clint. As the colour washed over him, Phil could feel his memories fading in a similar manner to how they had when he had been in the alternate universe. His life was being rewritten in his mind, memories disappearing and appearing at an alarming rate.

His days as a Ranger were replaced with days trapped in a kitchen. Lola became a dog named Lucky. He didn't hear rumours about how he had knocked out several bad guys with a packet of donuts and a hot cup of coffee, instead it was how his own donuts and coffee were good enough to die for. When the yellow faded, Phil straightened his jacket and headed into the nearby coffee shop.

After his day, he needed more coffee, he thought. And where better to get some than a place where he knew the owner and could have a coffee on the house?


	8. Breaking

Phil sat at a desk, typing in information to one of the numerous forms that needed to be filled out. There was a subtle shuffling sound coming from above him and he knew that it was Clint making his way through the ceiling vents. A steaming coffee cup sat next to his left elbow and he thought briefly that it was odd for the coffee to still be hot and in the cup.

His eyes started to get weary and his head nodded forward. He jerked it up, shaking himself to keep him from falling asleep. It was a futile effort; he had been working long hours with minimal sleep for several weeks by now, and sleep was catching up. Saving the file, Phil pushed away his keyboard and rested his head on his arms on the desk, letting himself drift off.

He woke up. The smell of fresh coffee permeated his flat and he felt the last vestiges of the dream slip away. He threw away the duvet and padded into the kitchen where the automated maker was letting coffee drip into the jug. It wasn't his first choice for coffee, but it did the job well enough and meant he didn't have to go downstairs, set up, and then make one himself.

He slumped against the counter as he waited for the machine to finish. Rubbing his palms over his face, Phil sighed. He enjoyed his life and his job, but every so often, he felt like something was missing. The dreams didn't help either; he didn't remember them at all, but he remembered the feeling of  _rightness_  he had when he was in that dreamland of plugging in information in the office with a purple couch sitting off to the side.

The machine beeped and he fetched down his mug before filling it with wonderful ambrosia. The flavour and smell of the coffee woke him up and prepared him for the day ahead. Once he was done, he washed up and went to get ready. He had a few things left to do before he could properly open up the shop, but he also knew some of the regulars didn't care about his official hours and came anyway (he had ended up adapting his hours to prevent them waking him up with constant texts and calls).

Grabbing his phone on his way, Phil locked the flat and made his way downstairs to the small bakery café he owned. It wasn't anything grand or spectacular, but it provided good food and drink to the locals and kept him both happy and busy. May was already walking up to the door when he entered the main area and he hurriedly unlocked it to let her in.

She nodded in greeting and instantly curled up on one of the long sofas that lined the walls. Phil quickly went through the motions of setting up the coffee machine and removing any traces of the cleaning agent from yesterday before testing the water and then placing a mug with a green tea bag in it under the spout.

Bread was checked, shaped, and then slid into the oven to bake as he carried over the tea and muffin that was May's standing order. She worked nights and always came in after her shift for a snack before heading home to sleep. She cracked her eyes open when he placed the cup and plate down and smiled gratefully.

"Thanks, Phil," she murmured.

"You're welcome," he returned just as quietly; it felt almost sacrilegious to disturb the peace of early morning with loud voices.

He returned to the open kitchen and started grabbing the ingredients he would need to whip up more treats. The muffin May had was from yesterday—he always kept one to the side for her to have the next morning—and he needed to make some fresh ones.

Soon enough, the regular morning crowd found their way back to his café and he was busy taking orders, pulling out things from the oven, and sending out completed tickets. Clint came in halfway through the rush with Lucky—who rather enthusiastically bounded over to Jasper Sitwell and the dog treats he always had on him.

Clint placed a quick kiss on Phil's cheek before moving to start more bread dough that would be ready by the afternoon. They weren't open for lunch, everyone in their small community was either asleep or one of the few day-workers that were busy with their own job. Instead, the bakery did a roaring trade in the early morning and evenings.

Once everyone had gone and the place cleaned up and shut down, Phil collapsed into one of the seats, Lucky placing his head on Phil's lap and Clint sitting across from him. Clint—being the marvellous man he was—had brought over a mug of coffee with him and placed it in front of Phil.

"Tired?" he asked.

Phil smiled wryly. "I'm always tired."

Clint conceded the point and curled his feet up under him as he watched Lucky happily accept pats from Phil. "You should think about hiring staff, maybe they'll take a bit of pressure off you."

"From where?" Phil asked. "We have a tiny population here and everyone already has a job. Besides, this place runs like a dream. Sometimes I'm afraid I'll wake up and find that it is a dream."

"I can clear that fear up for you," Clint said. "You can't wake up, this isn't a dream. Or if it is, we're sharing the same one."

"Good to know."

The peaceful atmosphere was broken by the sound of a plane flying overhead and landing somewhere near where the town square was. Sharing concerned looks, both Phil and Clint abandoned their comfortable seats and raced outside to see what was happening. A plane making a landing without an airstrip was almost always bad news.

When they arrived at the town square, it was to the sight of a quinjet sitting in the middle and the ramp lowering down to let someone out. It was an almost identical replica of the one they kept in a hangar on the outskirts of town (no one used it anymore) but there were enough differences that it couldn't be the same.

A man in a long leather trench coat with an eyepatch over his left eye strode down the ramp with his hands clasped behind his back. The sight of him had snatches of Phil's dreams coming back and vanishing just as quickly with a yellow tinge.

"Coulson!" the man bellowed out. "What the hell is going on here?"

Phil hesitated. He was still unsure of why the man looked familiar and had no idea why he was asking Phil what was happening in their small town. "Nothing in particular, Director."

Director? Where had that come from? The man glared at him.

"I know that. That's precisely the problem, Agent Coulson.  _Nothing is happening_. I haven't from your team for three weeks, no one is checking in and following protocol."

At the words  _Agent Coulson_  and  _protocol_ , Phil's mind cleared. A wash of yellow slammed into him as he struggled to keep his sudden memories from leaving again. He staggered to his knees under the pressure, Clint and Nick rushing to his side as he collapsed.

"0-8-4," he gasped out to Nick and the Director nodded in understanding.

He raced back to the quinjet and came out a few seconds later carrying a case that would cancel out the 0-8-4's effects. Phil gestured to the fountain with its stone garden of flowers and a shining yellow rose. Fury immediately changed course and leaped into the fountain, paying no heed to the water as he clambered up the stone and snapped the case shut over the yellow rose, breaking off the crumbling stone that had held the rose in place as he did so.

Instantly, the pressure vanished and Phil could breathe easily again. He glanced back in the direction of the bakery café that had once been his pride and joy and groaned as he let himself collapse fully onto the cobbled road. He  _really_  hated answering 0-8-4 alerts. Next time he'd just send May and Sitwell, they could be the ones dealing with mind-bending universe alterations.

_Altered Memories_

_Step 1. Have a set check-in routine to follow._

_Step 2. Pray to God someone comes to find out why you've been missing your check-ins._


End file.
